20 – Washington, D.C.
“We have to do something. If we don’t act, the state will or the Congress will or, heaven forbid, some mob will. But my heart tells me one thing and my head tells me something else. I don’t know what to do, but we can’t do nothing.” President Lawrence Quaid was sprawled on the sofa in the Oval Office. Sitting in chairs facing him were Robert Brown, his chief of staff and former college roommate; Sen. Grant Farrell, Democratic minority leader; and Quaid’s wife Catherine, herself a lawyer and his most trusted confidante.
Sen. Farrell broke the silence.
“The law is clear, Mr. President. You can’t be faulted for enforcing the law. These people entered the country illegally. They used violence, military weapons, to kill American military personnel. They’re flaunting their presence in Boston, not even trying to be subtle about it. They are daring you to do something. They don’t believe you have what it takes to take them on.”
“Easy now, Grant,” Brown said softly. “This isn’t a test of the President’s manhood.”
“The President is man enough. I’ll swear it under oath,” the First Lady laughed. “We are not going to make this decision based on whether my husband is going to back down in front of a dare. According to a story he told me when we were courting, the last time he accepted a dare was in junior high school when a friend dared him to piss on an electric fence. That’s a lesson he won’t ever forget, right dear?”
“It was certainly a shocker,” Quaid responded. “If only this dare were as easy as that one.”
“We go back a long way, a long way and I know in all that time your heart has never steered you wrong,” Brown spoke as much to Catherine as to the President. Brown and Catherine met in their junior year at Cornell University. After two dates, both realized there was no chemistry between them, friendship perhaps, but no chemistry. When Catherine asked Brown whether his roommate was seeing anyone, he’d known where the chemistry was. She and Quaid married shortly after graduation and had a marriage people didn’t think happened anymore. Faithful, sharing equals, either could have been elected President and the other would have been there in support. Quaid relied on Catherine to steer him toward deciding what the right thing was and then to convince him to do it.
“The United States of America can not deport Jewish refugees to a country in which they will be placed in camps, subjugated and, quite possibly, exterminated,” Brown said sharply. “You do that and you will earn a place in history, all right, but you won’t like it.”
“Just a minute, now, Bob,” Farrell interrupted before Quaid could respond. “Don’t you think maybe you’ve got a bit of a personal bias on this issue? You know, Mr. President, maybe it would look better if Bob stepped aside on this issue and let the rest of us make a decision. It doesn’t look right having him here right now. Word could get out and there’d be hell to pay.”
Quaid shot from the couch to stand over Farrell.
“Grant, are you saying what I think you’re saying,” Quaid asked. “Hell, I’ve known Bob since college and I’ll bet I’ve been in more synagogues than he has since then. I’d guess Bob’s just about forgotten he’s even Jewish, right Bob?”
Brown rose from his chair to stand beside the President, both of them looking down on Farrell. Catherine Quaid beamed at her two men.
“I wouldn’t go that far, Mr. President, not these days. Evidently others haven’t forgotten the fact that my parents happen to be Jews. Just for the record,” Brown stared at Sen. Farrell, “I haven’t been to a synagogue since I was bar mitvahed at 13 years old. Neither of my sons had a bar mitzvah. I don’t belong to any Jewish organizations and, as you’ve scolded me several times, Mr. President, I go to work on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur every year.
“Despite that, lady and gentlemen, I am most certainly a Jew, if that makes any difference.”
Catharine applauded five times, got up from her chair and gave Brown a hug.
“That is why we love you so much, Bob. You are the heart and soul of this presidency and we won’t forget that either.”
“Heart and soul is one thing, Mr. President, but politics is something entirely different,” Farrell said, remaining seated while the President walked to the three windows facing the South Lawn and the Washington Monument in the distance. He stood staring out the window, his back to the others in the room. Farrell continued speaking.
“You might not have to run for office again, Mr. President, but the rest of us Democrats still do. Now, I don’t know what you’re going to decide on this issue and I suspect you don’t know either. But if you allow the country’s most powerful Jew, with all due respect to your national policy advisor, to influence your decision, that decision won’t get much respect. This has to be your decision, not influenced by a Jewish insider in the White House.
“I tell you this for your own good, and for the good of the Democratic party. This issue has disaster written all over it. There won’t be much of a national Democratic party without Jewish support. I know that, even if I don’t especially like it. But if it looks like we’re knuckling in to Jewish pressure, then this party will only have Jewish support and nothing else.”
Sen. Farrell looked back and forth between the President and his chief of staff. Farrell knew he didn’t have the same history with Lawrence Quaid that Brown had, but it was Farrell’s job to look out for the party. Brown’s job was to look out for Quaid.
“We have to watch ourselves on this one, Mr. President,” Farrell continued. “Make the right decision, sir, whatever that is, but be sure to make it in the right way, in a way the rest of the party won’t have to explain in congressional hearings some day. I don’t want to be placed under oath and asked what role Mr. Brown played in this decision. For the good of the country, for the good of the Democratic party, I suggest that Mr. Brown voluntarily absent himself from this discussion.”
President Quaid continued staring out the windows silently. Before he could say anything, his wife spoke up.
“Larry,” Catharine Quaid said sternly, addressing her husband by name in front of others for probably the first time in his two terms in office. “You tell Bobbie to leave and I’m walking out with him. He’s your best friend and most trusted advisor. He won’t do anything to hurt you. The three of us are the home team, remember, the three of us. We’re the good guys. Lose one member of this team and I swear you’ll lose the other one, too, at least on this issue.”
President Quaid spun around.
She stared him directly in the eyes until he looked away. The President walked to his wife and took both her hands in his.
“Catherine, the last time I disagreed with you was when I wanted to buy a bass guitar and you said it had four strings and I only knew one note. I bought it anyway and never got past the first string.”
Quaid stared silently at the ceiling, paused, then turned back to his wife.
“What Grant says is right. We both know it is. This is the toughest issue of my presidency. How I handle this will define me. This is my moment in history. The way I handle it is as important as the result I achieve, or don’t achieve. It can’t appear that any decision I make is a pay back for Jewish support, especially for Jewish financial support.” President Quaid turned to his chief of staff.
“Bob, I think it would be best for all of us if you would decide that your presence is needed elsewhere. I’m sorry buddy, but that’s the way it has to be.”
Brown stood silently, looked at Quaid, shook his head slowly from side to side in disbelief and walked from the room. The door swung shut. There was silence.
Catherine rose and walked to the door without looking at Quaid. It slammed behind her, loud enough to startle the Marine guard.
“Now lets do what has to be done here, Mr. President,” Farrell slowly said.
“OK,” Quaid replied. “But this better be worth it. I’m paying an awfully heavy price for following your advice.”